


Tolerate

by Addie_D_123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie_D_123/pseuds/Addie_D_123





	Tolerate

_Tolerate._

That’s the word.

He was trying to think of it earlier but sometimes he has trouble concentrating when Sam’s yelling at him. When his voice gets all high and breathy and exasperated.

“You know, like you just put up with me.” _Dammit, Sammy, I can’t think of the word._

Sam just stared at him with sad eyes which was weird. Sam was a walking thesaurus.

 _Tolerate_.

Like when he makes a terrible joke and upsets a witness and Sam huffs and clenches his jaw. Or that one time he put Ruby’s knife away bloody and Sam grabbed it before he noticed. Rubbed the invisible traces off on his thigh and sighed like he was being tested.

He wonders why Sam’s put up with him for this long.

And Sam just keeps staring at him, his mouth opening and closing like he’s out of breath. He squeezes the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes and asks, “Why would you say that, Dean?”

He picks at the stitches in his arm like he’s not supposed to and thinks that he doesn’t understand the question.

“Dean.” Sam’s frustrated and he wonders how he fucked up this time. He knows he shouldn’t shrug, but he can’t make his thoughts into words. So he does.

“You can’t just say something like that and then shrug, Dean.”

He needs something to do because he can’t stand his brother looking at him expectantly. Like he has the answers and he’s deliberately withholding.

“Dean, I’m not ‘putting up with you’ or whatever. You’re important. To me … You’re just-”

He stoops to pick up the tiny pieces of paper scattered around the room like confetti. From when he had torn up his notes and thrown them as hard as he could. They hadn’t gone far and now there were four pages missing from Dad’s journal. The crooked edges stick out like amputated limbs.

“Dean!”

It’s the voice Sam uses when things are serious. Immediate. His head snaps up.

“You’re my brother. You’re just … Dean.” Sam lowers his voice and it wavers like it’s coming from underwater. “My Dean.”

“Okay, Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing! And get off the floor.”

He reacts like instinct and pops up so fast his knees crack. He knows he should have moved slower. Sam always flinches when he responds like he’s been commanded. Like he’s a soldier.

“I’m sorry … sorry. It’s just that I’m trying to make you understand, Dean. But you have to try, too. To remember. That I love you, man, and you just gotta try.”

He nods and knows that Sam’s right, he usually is. It’s frustrating to have to correct him again and again. Remind him. Dean forgets but Sam’s really patient. Like a saint.

Sam squeezes his shoulder briefly before gesturing at the floor. He gets it. _Clean up your mess._

And he thinks that really is the best word.

 _Tolerate_.


End file.
